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Wild Plowers 



RUTH A. O'CONNOR 




NEW YORK 

THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY CO 

9 Barclay Street 

London: BURNS & OATES, 28 Orchard Street 
1885 



Qfifl 



Copyright, 
By Ruth A. O'Connor, 



JSelovefc dfcotber: 

After the flowers that you have always 
loved, and which you and I have so often 
gathered together, and for each other, I 
name this little collection. 



Your Birthday, 

May 8, 1885. 



CONTENTS, 



PAGE 

At Bethlehem, . . . . . -9 

A Blessing in Disguise, . . . . * . n 

Little Flirt, . . . . . . 13 

Borne on the Old Year, ..... 20 

The Voice of Hope, . . . . . .21 

Silent Prayer, ...... 22 

Autobiography of a White Rose, . . . -23 

'Twixt Hope and Fear, ..... 32 

God bless You, Darling, . . . . -34 

An Idle Morning, ...... 36 

Pansy, . . ... . . . -39 

A Mother's Influence, ..... 41 

The " Te Deum " of New Year's Eve, . . -44 

Drooped — Faded — Died, . . . . . 46 

Parental Love, ....... 47 

Jesus to the Soul Oppressed, . . . .49 

Unexpressed Thoughts, . . . . . .51 

7 



CONTENTS. 



Through the Valley, ..... 53 

A Legend of the Flight into Egypt, . . -55 

Dreaming, ....... 58 

He and I, . . . . . . . -59 

In a Schoolgirl's Floral Album, .... 63 

In Josie's Album, . . . . . . .64 

Outside the Fold, ...... 65 

A Birthday Wish, . . . . . -67 

i only mean half that i say, .... 68 

Count Twenty, . . . . . . 70 

A Christmas Wish, ...... 73 

Dreamland, . . . . . . -74 

Consolation, . . . . . . . 76 

" Pot-Pourri," . . . . . . • . 77 

Salutatory, ....... 84 

Valedictory, . . . . . . .87 

Two Sunsets, ....... 91 

In the Garden, ....... 99 




w 



ILD r LOWERS. 




AT BETHLEHEM. 

OW the hour hath come, and the 

Babe is born, 
And our hope-filled hearts beat 

high and fast ; 
For we know this is Joy's suprem- 

est hour, 
And this time of grace cannot 

always last. 



Let us haste away to the manger crib, 
To lay our hearts at the Infant's feet, 

To place our hopes in the Mother's hands, 
And unite in the mystic scene so sweet. 

Let us shrink not back from the midnight air, 
But joyfully follow the shepherds afar : 

We will keep within pace of the Orient band, 
And steadily walk in the trail of the star. 



AT BETHLEHEM. 



Lo ! the herds have abandoned their flocks beloved, 
The Wise Men have journeyed from distant parts, 

To proffer their incense, gold, and myrrh, 

Whilst we have naught but our sin-stained hearts. 

Oh, these sin-stained hearts ! We pause in distress ; 

Our hope and joy for a while are chilled ; 
But anon we picture the Babe's sweet eyes — 

Our courage revives, our fears are stilled. 

For the heart that is sad with remembered sin, 
The heart that is weary and sore oppressed, 

Or the poor heart crushed with some untold pain, 
May be just the heart that the Child loves best. 

Anon we will pass through the cold, drear night 
To the stable blest, our homage to pay, 

And there will we kneel at the manger's side, 
In a thrill of delight, till the dawn of day. 

We will kiss the hem of the Infant's robe, 
We will press our lips to the Mother's hand, 

We will take one straw from the cradle-bed, 
And with peace-awed hearts leave the Holy Land. 




A BLESSING IN DISGUISE. 



HE stood beneath the Spring-time's 
joyous light, 
A fair young picture framed in roses 

white, 
Whilst at her feet the tender violets 

grew, 
And, though all nature spoke of joy 
^^ and peace, 

And hailed Queen Summer and her flowers' in- 
crease, 
This young heart neither peace nor gladness knew. 



With eyes averted from the azure sky, 
She heeded not the zephyrs wafting .by, 

Nor marked the note of nightingale's glad song. 
There was no sunshine in her sorrowed heart ; 
With life's best hope she felt that she must part — 

The hour had come that she had prayed for long. 



A BLESSING IN DISGUISE. 



She stood beneath the Autumn's chastened light, 
While brown leaves fell and drifted out of sight, 

And sad winds whispered through the leafless 
trees ; 
And, dreading" not the melancholy days, 
She blessed God for His wondrous, hidden ways, 

With glad face lifted to the chilling breeze. 





LITTLE FLIRT. 



HE bright, warm sun was shining 
One Sabbath morn in May ; 
The air was heavy-laden 

With flow'rs and new-mown hay ; 
A soft and pleasant zephyr 

Came floating through the air 
Across the fields, where cowslips 
Were growing here and there. 
All nature seemed in harmony, 

And full of calm delight, 
For not a thing was wanting 
To make the scene more bright. 



The little village chapel, 

Built in the Gothic style, 
Was sought by all the neighbors 

For many and many a mile ; 
And on this bright May morning 

The message of the bell 
Had summoned all the villagers 

From near and far as well. 



LITTLE FLIRT. 



The service soon was ended, 

And all knelt down to pray ; 
The last notes of the organ 

Had faintly died away, 
When from the door came thronging 

The people, one by one, 
All looking calm and happy 

Beneath God's glorious sun. 
The poor man and the rich man 

Were walking side by side ; 
Here was a sturdy farmer, 

And there, perhaps, a bride. 
But 'mong the many faces 

No fairer could be seen, 
Upon this bright May morning, 

Than that of Bessie Deane. 
And as she tripped so lightly 

Across the chapel lawn, 
A smile of sweet contentment 

Upon her face was worn. 
She looked like some bright fairy 

With sunshine for her hair, 
With woodland shadows in her eyes, 

A brow unmarked by care. 
This fairy's dress was muslin, 

In flowing folds of white, 

. 14 



LITTLE FLIRT. 



Encircled round with ribbon 

Of azure-tinted light. 
This fairy wore a bonnet 

Trimmed prettily with blue ; 
Upon her head it rested 

So daintily that few 
Could help but to admire 

The pretty, piquant face 
Which beamed beneath that bonnet 

Of small blue flowers and lace. 



Her steps, she lightly wended 

Out to the chapel gate, 
Where two impatient rivals 

For Bessie Deane did wait. 
And Ralph stood at "the left side, 

And Will stood at the right ; 
And both were watching Bessie 

As on she came, so bright. 
The little flirt espied them, 

But looked the other way, 
Though in her heart was planning 

A pleasant walk that day. 
But presently she neared them, 

And raised her soft, blue eyes 



LITl^LE FLIRT. 



In sweet bewilderment, that each 

In loving deemed him wise. 
Ralph's eyes looked adoration, 

And Willie's did beseech ; 
And though she glanced at neither, 

She gave a hand to each. 
And of two hearts, that morning, 

Young Bessie was the pride, 
As through the daisied meadows 

The three walked side by side. 
And Bessie gaily chatted, 

Pretending not to know 
That two fond hearts experienced 

A pang of jealous woe. 
Each joyfully accepted 

Her smiles as she'd allot, 
But o'er her well-poised, classic head 

Vindictive elances shot. 



Soon gallant Ralph bent over 
To fasten Bessie's glove ; 

His bright, dark eyes were looking 
A chapter full of love. 

The glove was very awkward, 
Or Ralph was very weak ; 



LITTLE FLIRT. 



It would not, would not fasten, 

And Bessie looked so meek 
That he retained the little hand, 

Whilst furrows bent Will's brow. 
But as the elfin only blushed, 

Ralph thought his chance was now. 
So, bending even nearer, 

That Will might hear him too, 
He said : " Three is, I fancy, 

No company ; don't you ? " 
" I do," said pretty Bessie ; 

And though she said so, still 
She gently pressed Ralph's fingers 

Whilst glancing up at Will: 
Ralph thought he was the favored one, 

And Will was sure 'twas he ; 
So both walked on as well content 

As any man could be. 
Thus for a good half-hour 

Young Bessie smiled on both ; 
She knew she soon must leave them, 

Though feeling rather loath. 
Her mother must not see them 

Come walking home with her, 
For if she did, most probably 

A lecture would occur. 



BORNE ON THE OLD YEAR. 




LD year, sorrowfully gliding 

To a dim and mystic clime, 
Hopes, and joys, and sorrows hiding 

In the boundless sea of Time, 
As thou driftest from the Present 
To the weird and solemn Past, 
Bear some tidings true and pleasant : 
They will be thy very last. 
Take this message to Biella 

From the sanctum of my heart : 
Crown her with my love, and tell her 

In this great world's busy mart 
There is one who will remember, 

As through life her journey wends, 
That the vanishing December 

Left the stranger-cousins friends. 
Bid her in some tranquil hour, 

If some thought my presence bears, 
Name me to the All-wise Power — 
Weave my name amidst her prayers. 



THE VOICE OF HOPE. 




N your hours of grief atid sorrow 
(If such hours come to you), 
And you feel the world is shallow 

And that friendship is untrue. 
Listen to Hope's soft voice falling 

Thrillingly upon the heart, 
Like sweet, sympathetic music 

Bidding ev'ry grief depart. 
Listen, for 'twill bring you comfort, 
It will bid you not to mourn ; 
'Twill remind you that 'tis ever 
Darkest just before the dawn. 




SILENT PRAYER. 




S it possible to pray 

And yet to utter not a word ? 
Thinking thoughts with unmoved 
lips, 
Prayers which ears have never 
heard ? 



Folded hands and bended knees, 
Humble words the heart can say 
With closed lips and upraised hopes — 
This is how I love to pray ! 




AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A WHITE 
ROSE. 




NE radiant summer morning I awoke 
to blissful, bewildering conscious- 
ness of existence. The dawn of my 
life was greeted by joyous sunshine, 
balmy, perfume-laden breezes, gen- 
tle rustling of trees, and the chirp- 
ing of young robins. In an ecsta- 
sy of trembling delight I glanced 
around me, and oh ! such a scene 
of beauty met my gaze! What benignant fate had 
placed me in this favored spot ? This beautiful gar- 
den, my birthplace, must surely have received Na- 
ture's most propitious glance and Art's most taste- 
ful training, to rejoice in so much loveliness. Not 
mine the power of describing the floral enchantment 
upon which I gazed that fairest of fair morns ; but 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A WHITE ROSE. 



vividly has the beauteous scene been presented and 
re-presented to my mind on subsequent days, less 
fair, less bright. And now, when all the youth 
and beauty have gone out from my life for ever, I 
glance back, through winter's snows and summer's 
heats, through tearful spring-time and autumn's 
melancholy days, upon that one glad morn when 
the world opened before me. It must have been 
Flora's festival day, over which Mother Nature pre- 
sided in her most gracious mood ; for never since 
have I beheld a clearer landscape, a bluer sky, or 
more golden sunshine. And my sister-flowers must 
surely have donned their gayest robes to grace the 
occasion, as in gladsome mood they bent their pret- 
ty heads beneath the passing breezes in greeting 
one to the other. A family of tall hyacinths stood 
in stately dignity beside a heart-shaped bed of 
bright geraniums, whilst some graceful fuchsias, in 
all their crimson loveliness, bent over a young lily, 
dropping now and then in floral playfulness a dew- 
drop on her fair, sweet face. Here was a bed of 
mignonette close to a growth of delicate ferns, and 
there some purple heliotrope casting its most fra- 
grant perfume over a little group of Bethlehem 
stars. ' Near the centre of the garden was a cross 
framed in violet leaves ; for the sweet little flowers 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A WHITE ROSE. 



themselves had lived their young lives, had faith- 
fully performed their appointed mission, and, when 
the spring-time waned, had drooped their slender 
heads and died, leaving behind a plenteous growth 
of dark-green leaves as a legacy of love. In one 
moist and shady spot a little community of forget- 
me-rrots clustered together, having as a background 
some shaded carnations and sweetbrier. But my 
nearest companions were a family of rich crimson 
roses on one side, and on the other a growth of 
tender woodbine, clinging to and twining around 
some tastefully-devised, green-painted support. My 
heart went out to that woodbine from the first mo- 
ment, and whenever a passing breeze swept unex- 
pectedly adown the garden I bent my head behind 
my woodbine friend for mute protection. Thus, as 
the great Day King shone out in all his splendor, en- 
tranced I gazed around me, taking in all the beauty 
by which I was surrounded, and by the time he had 
reached his meridian I had become acquainted with 
all my sister-flowers. 

Anon the zephyrs strayed from out the garden, as 
the noonday sun rested like a coronet of gold upon 
each floweret's brow, lulling her to sleep; and scarce 
a sound was heard save the refreshing drip, drip of 
the jet-d'eau in the centre of our floral home. My 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A WHITE ROSE. 



sister-flowers seemed to have succumbed to the 
sleepy influence of the hour; but life to me was 
still too new and sweet to yield me to the loss of 
even one moment. Thus it was that I espied the 
busy bee earnestly gathering her honeyed store, as 
she murmured her mesmeric song over each flower- 
et's head, and the tiny humming-bird insatiately 
speeding from flower to flower. 

And the day waned ; the noontide had long sped 
when the truant breezes timidly returned, whisper- 
ing their balmy messages into each floweret's will- 
ing ear, awakening her from her slumbering. A 
smilax-covered portal swung lightly on its hinges as 
two fair human forms emerged into the garden, soft- 
ly treading the gravelled pathway, and the cadence 
of a blithe and joyous voice was borne upon the 
zephyrs — a voice that probably had never mourned, 
had never had occasion for aught save mirthfulness. 

" I thank you, Alma," said this voice, " for the 
gracious carte-blancJie of your delightful garden, 
since I have concluded to wear natural flowers at 
the reception to-night. Which shall I choose ? " 
As the forms approached : " Well, I see something 
here wondrously alluring." And as a fair, jewel-cov- 
ered hand was extended, I shrank behind my wood- 
bine friend ; but, disregarding me, the hand rested 

26 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A WHITE ROSE. 



lightly on the full-blown crimson roses, and the voice 
continued : " A generous bunch of these in my cor- 
sage, with a less liberal supply at my throat, will be 
a charming contrast with my cream-satin dress. Do 
not you agree with me? But at what are you peer- 
ing so intently ? " 

And then another voice responded — -a voice mar- 
vellously low and sweet and clear — a voice that 
seemed made for solacing. " I am looking," said 
this voice, " to note the progress of my youngest 
rosebush, and am gladdened by the sight of one 
fair, opening bud." And slender, blue-veined, ring- 
less fingers tenderly encircled my young life, giving 
thereto an added vibration. " Little white rosebud, 
I bid thee welcome to my garden." And a pale, 
clear-cut face bent above me, whilst liquid, violet 
eyes gazed earnestly into my heart, as the fair fin- 
gers gently separated my petals. 

" Do you really admire that puny-looking little 
thing?" asked the joyous voice, whilst the jewels 
flashed as the white hands made havoc amongst my 
crimson neighbors. 

" It is my favorite always ; but in some inexpli- 
cable way this particular white rose seems to be 
connected with my fate. I blame you not for that 
rippling laugh — my fancies merit it ; nevertheless I 

27 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A WHITE ROSE. 



am impressed with a feeling that this young bud 
will weave its fragrance through some desolate and 
some happier hours of my life." And the forms 
moved onward betwixt jessamine and lilies, and the 
voices grew fainter, and yet more faint, as I bent 
my wear)' head against my friendly woodbine, whilst 
the katydids amused themselves in playful contra- 
diction, and the sun went down in a globe of crim- 
son loveliness. 



II. 

I grew in floral beauty, each hour adding to my 
perfume and my pure white life, as I basked in glow- 
ing sunshine " from morn till dewy eve." Each day 
brought a gentle step unto me, each day did ear- 
nest eyes scrutinize me closely, as slender fingers 
moved over my unfolding leaves. But one drear 
morn, the prelude of a tearful day, whilst the dew- 
drops still lay upon my breast, the gentle step ap- 
proached more slowly than was its wont, the pale 
face seemed paler, the large, dark eyes larger and 
darker, and the slender fingers were unmistakably 
thinner as they tremblingly rested over me. 

" Little white rose," spoke the wondrous voice, 
low and clear, more gentle in its cadence than any 

28 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A WHITE ROSE. 



zephyr that had rippled athwart the garden — " lit- 
tle white rose, thou hast opened to full bloom on 
the saddest morning of my life." 

Gently was I wrested from my parent bush, and 
I trembled within the trembling fingers that encir- 
cled me, as, separated from my one green leaf, I 
was borne alone from my floral home for ever, whilst 
a blithe young robin chirruped her farewell as I 
passed beyond the trellised portico. Through the 
darkened corridor into a darker room, where in one 
far corner lighted tapers kept watch around a silent 
form, was I noiselessly borne. Here was I placed 
upon a soulless breast, as pale lips were pressed 
upon the paler, unresponsive ones. And then the 
form knelt, the hands were clasped resignedly to- 
gether, the eyes were raised tearlessly to a crucifix 
above the sleeper's head, whilst the pale, sensitive 
lips murmured : " Thou hast taken my best beloved, 
O Lord ! — my mother : life is desolate ; my heart 
is broken. Thou knovvest best ; Thy holy will be 
ever adored!" Then, whilst the young head was 
bowed, in a voice yet lower the sad tones came : 
" De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine." And as 
the tapers flickered fitfully, making weird shadows 
on the wall, I fell asleep with the solemn Reqmescat 
in pace murmured near me. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A WHITE ROSE. 



I know not how long I .slumbered, but I became 
conscious of an unusual stir in the sombre room, 
and discovered that many of my sister-flowers were 
surrounding the form upon whose breast I was re- 
posing, though I looked in vain for my woodbine 
friend and my crimson neighbors. As the subdued 
stir increased, a kneeling form arose, and the slender 
fingers, whose touch was so familiar to my leaves, 
once more encircled me, and I was borne away. 

I never saw the sombre room again. My home 
was now a smaller, lightsome room, my resting-place 
the pages of a book at the foot of a bronze cruci- 
fix. And here, each day at twilight, the dark-robed 
form knelt in low-voiced prayer, read from the page 
of which I formed the marker — " De profundis. " 

And after many sunless days, when the winter 
waned and the spring-time dawned again, the step, 
erst slow and languid, regained elasticity, the hands 
moved busily about the white-walled chamber, and 
one lilac-scented evening I was kissed and placed 
away. 

Long was my repose, awakened by the sound of 
plaintive chanting in many female voices, accompa- 
nied by the odor of holy incense from the convent 
altar ; and when next I saw the face so dear to my 
rose-heart it was encased as a picture in a pure 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A WHITE ROSE. 



white frame. Never had it looked more lovely. All 
the old-time pensiveness was there, but it was inter- 
mingled with an expression of holy joyousness. And 
now I comprehend that she and I rest in our abid- 
ing-place on earth. The slender ringers, now draped 
in heavy sleeves, have placed me near her best-loved 
meditation, " The Prayer in the Garden," and oft at 
the close of Compline I am gently sought. Her fin- 
gers still are ringless, her only ornament the silver 
cross upon her breast, and the calm light upon her 
face betokening interior peace; for her life is now 
espoused to Him to who'm she yielded so resignedly 
her heart's best treasure ; who, in His incomprehen- 
sible wisdom and love, bereft her of all she held 
most dear on earth, that she might, like the be- 
loved disciple, lean upon His breast for all eternity, 
knowing no love save His. 




TWIXT HOPE AND FEAR. 




HOU knowest what is best for me, 
My destiny is in Thy power; 
And in this desolated hour 
Gladly I yield myself to thee. 



Take Thou my heart, so wayward, 
weak ; 
Remove its enervating chill ; 
Bend Thou my unrelenting will, 
And teach my lips what they should speak. 



For, oh ! Thou knowest what is best, 
And surely I am still Thy child, 
E'en though my struggles have been wild, 

For nowhere have I sought for rest 



'TWIXT HOPE AND FEAR. 



But at Thy feet. Then guide me on, 
And I will follow with closed eyes, 
And, yielding blindly, deem me wise 

To journey whither I am drawn. 



Thou knovvest what is best for me, 
My destiny is in Thy power ; 
Thus in this weird, enchanted hour 

I place my hopes, my fears, with Thee. 




GOD BLESS YOU, DARLING 




OD bless you, darling!" O'er the 
cradle bending, 
The fond young mother gazes 
anxiously, 
Whilst Heavenward her fervent 

prayer is soaring: 
" Watch o'er him, Father ; guard 
him tenderly." 



" God bless you, darling ! Sad, oh ! sad is parting," 
The maiden whispers to her sailor love ; 

" The sea is rough, and dangers will surround you. 
But God is good; He'll guard you whilst you 
rove." 



" God bless you, darling ! We will meet in heaven," 
The husband murmurs to his dying wife ; 

" I'll join you there, for now my heart is sinking, 
And soon I'll leave this weary world of strife." 



GOD BLESS YOU, DARLING! 



" God bless you, darling ! " What a world of sweet- 
ness 

This little whisper brings to every heart ! 
We breathe it gladly when we meet a loved one, 

We breathe it sadly when we're doomed to part. 




AN IDLE MORNING. 




'VE naught in the world to amuse 
me to-day. 
Do put by that book, I implore ; 
'Tis not interesting: be candid and 
own 
You've found it an out-and-out 
bore. 
For twenty-five minutes you've earn- 
estly read — 
What knowledge, pray, have you 
gained by it? 
Not a bit, and you know it. What ? What did 
you say? 
You heartily wish I'd be quiet? 
Yes, certainly, so you may pore o'er that book — 

A novel, a trashy one too. 
The heroine's graceful and tall, I presume, 
With eyes of the dark hazel hue ? 



AN IDLE MORNING. 



You wish I'd behave as a young lady should, 

And walk on the lawn with my mother? 
Oh! no; I'd much rather stand here in the sun, 

Tormenting your sister's siveet brother ! 
I wish you would smile. Oh ! how savage you look ! 

I'm really beginning to fear you. 
Do smile, if but once ; then fresh courage I'll gain 

To venture another step near you. 
You see I have nothing whatever to do ; 

Please give me permission to tease. 
Oh ! dear, how you startled me when you looked up : 

I thought you were going to sneeze. 
You wish I'd go 'way ? Oh ! I'm certain you do. 

But no, not a step will I move ; 
That teasing is medicine you very much need, 

To-day I'll endeavor to prove. 
Dear me ! how excited you're looking just now ! 

Did the hero do anything rash ? 
What ! am I mistaken ? No, surely I saw 

A smile, spite your heavy moustache. 
Please put by your book, and I'll finish it for you ; 

I know how those novels all end ; 
I'll do it up nicely, in style sentimental — 

I will, if you'll only attend. 
I'm a pest and a humbug? Is that what you said? 

You wish you could finish your story? 



AN IDLE MORNING. 



I'll end it up for you ; it finishes thus : 

He dies, and she marries the Tory. 
Don't gnaw your moustache ; 'tis a bad-temper sign, 

And frequently indicates rage. 
And now let me tell you — I've carefully watched — 

Not once have you turned o'er that page. 
Your secret I've guessed — not a line have you read. 

I'll give you just till I count ten 
To put by your book, and — what! frowning? Poor 
me ! 

Oh ! dear, what queer creatures are men ! 




38 




PANSY. 



AIR was the flower that bloomed 
in my garden, 
Gentle and shy, yet so tender 
and bright ; 
Soft-eyed and winsome, and sweet- 
ly confiding — 
Beautiful pansy, the garden's 
delight. 



Rude winds stole into my bright little garden, 
Swept by the roses, not caring for them, 

Bent o'er my pansy in wild admiration — 
Bore off my sensitive plant from its stem. 



And fair was the maiden who bloomed in the gar- 
den — 

Bloomed in the garden of my happy heart ; 
Gentle and shy, like her namesake, the pansy, 

And of her namesake a sweet counterpart. 

39 



PANSY. 



Fair was the morning, one morning in May-time, 
Watched I the pansy-eyes moistened with tears ; 

Clasped I the slender hand, blue-veined, transparent, 
Crushed in my coward heart all anxious fears. 



Fair, ah ! too fair, was this peerless young pansy — 
Too fair and frail through this rude world to 
•glide ; 

Bright angels bore her away to their garden : 
Thus I'm bereft of my sweet pansy-bride. 




4 o 



A MOTHER'S INFLUENCE. 




HAT is "A Mother's Influence"? 
According to our lexicon, influ- 
ence signifies directing power, 
sway ; and mother, according to 
the lexicon of the human heart, 
implies the best and truest friend 
'neath Heaven. 

Hence we understand a mother's 

influence to be .the directing power 

exercised by our best and truest friend on earth. 

And being man's best friend, what wonder that her 

influence for good has been proverbial in all ages? 

The effect of mother-influence has been exempli- 
fied in every stage of life, from the cradle to the 
grave ; in every condition of life, from sumptuous 
palace unto lowly cot. 

What a magic spell encircles the name of mother 
in the direction of a child when we would incite him 
to some generous deed or restrain him from evil! 
" How pleased mother will be ! " we tell him ; and 

41 



A MOTHERS INFLUENCE. 



the bright eyes emit an added lustre, happy smiles 
play around the dimpled face, and we know that the 
young heart throbs with joyous exultation. 

Again, how often have we seen a shadow of pain, 
a little, pale shade of sorrow, creep into the rosy 
child-face when we venture the rebuke, " What will 
mother think?" and after a moment's hesitation, per- 
haps, the contemplated mischief is abandoned. 

And strong men, too, are under the spell of this 
maternal sway. The sailor far from home, his des- 
tiny cast 'twixt sea and sky ; the soldier on the field 
of battle, alike acknowledge the power of a mother's 
influence. The brave warrior from " Bingen on the 
Rhine," giving his life in defence of country, is but 
a type of hundreds, nay, thousands, whose last earth- 
ly thoughts were wafted home to mother. 

Before remitting himself entirely into the hands 
of God, to the exclusion of every other thought, 
his heart yearns towards home — to mother ; and ere 
snaps the feeble link binding him to earth he makes 
in his mind a provision for the happiness of her de- 
clining years, sending home the message : " Tell 
my mother that her other sons will comfort her old 
age." And his earthly hopes and fears, his day- 
dreams, his ambitions ended for ever, he consigns 
himself to the mercy of the good God. 



A MOTHER'S INFLUENCE. 



Ah ! yes, from the cradle to the grave, youth 
and old age alike feel the happy effects of a mo- 
ther's direction. I have seen an old man weep as 
proudly he recounted an episode of maternal influ- 
ence in the morning of his life ; and now at its 
eve, at its near approach of night, he weeps at its 
remembrance. 

And eighteen hundred years ago, in Cana of Ga- 
lilee, the best Son deigned even that His first mira- 
cle should be wrought at the unspoken desire of 
His Mother. 

Thus, as the reflection of a summer sunset on a 
broad expanse of water, a mother's influence is mir- 
rored in the character of man. 



*■*#■ 




THE "TE DEUM" OF NEW YEAR'S 

EVE. 

E thank Thee, Lord, adoringly we 
thank Thee, 
For all the gifts Thou'st yielded 
unto us 
In the gone year. Kneel we in 
love-awed silence, 
Liking to render our thanksgiv- 
ing thus. 




Too blind, too weak is human understanding 
To comprehend or fathom what is good ; 

A death-knell oft is faint, mysterious joy-bells, 

And sorrow sometimes lurks 'neath eladness' hood. 



Thus, Lord, we thank, not only for the favors, 
- But for the trials Thou hast sent instead ; 
Thou knowest best ; relying on Thy mercy, 

Thou wilt not give us stones in place of bread. 



THE " TE DEUM" OF NEW YEAR'S EVE. 

Would that our hearts were fair as fragrant lilies ! 

Fain would we lay them at Thy sacred feet — 
Some steeped in joy, some others sorrow-freighted, 

All thank-pulsated with each throb and beat. 

Give unto us, whilst making this thanksgiving, 
More faith and hope to estimate the crown ; 

Grant Thou us grace to clasp each cross presented, 
And kiss the hand that sent the trial down. 

Yea, Lord, we thank Thee, though in sorrow con- 
scious 
That these poor hearts are quite too weak, too 
small 
To render to thee adequate thanksgiving ; 

We can but murmur: "Thank Thee, Lord, for 
all ! " 




DROOPED— FADED— DIED. 




WHITE June rose 

Was blooming 'neath the noonday 
sun, 
Nor knew repose 
Until its summer work were done. 
A zephyr sighed — 
Its breath reached not that thirsting 
flower; , 

Scorched by the sun, it lost all power — 
Drooped— faded — died. 



A maiden fair 
Met one she deemed a noble prize ; 

Her beauty rare 
Found favor in his courtly eyes. 

He left her side, 
For love by him was soon forgot, 
And she, frail girl, complaining not, 

Drooped— faded— died. . 

46 



PARENTAL LOVE. 




HAT is more true and lasting than 
the love a parent bears his child ? 
Brotherly and sisterly love are 
dear, the love of a friend sweet ; 
but, oh ! where is the love which 
can compare with parental affec- 
tion ? 
When sorrow visits us we have but 
to seek our consolation in paren- 
tal love ; for the soft voice of mother, or the firm- 
er one of father, speaking words of comfort in our 
ear, makes our hearts light again and our spirits gay. 
When sickness with its threatening hand hovers 
over us, is it from nurse, friend, or even sister that 
we wish to receive the cooling drink? Ah! no; 'tis 
from mother, who, with sweet smile and soft caress, 
makes us feel that, even though we are sick and 
suffering, earth has one bright, golden chain which 
binds us to it.- 1 



PARENTAL LOVE. 



'Tis the gentle pressure of mother's hand on our 
forehead which .drives away pain ; mother's soft voice 
in our ear teaching, us the sweet example of pa- 
tience which we are to follow ; and mother's kiss on 
our lips which makes us feel that even Heaven were 
dreary were mother not there. 




JESUS TO THE SOUL OPPRESSED. 




CANNOT take thee yet, My child: 
the journey 
Is still a little longer; nerve thy 
heart 
To meet with fortitude the weary 
hours 
That oft confront thee in the 
world's great mart. 
Rest on My love, whate'er thy trials 
be— 
The most afflicted heart is most beloved by Me. 



I know each pang with which thy soul is wrestling, 
And fain would take thee, had I not in store 

A crown of light for all thy brave endeavors — 
Each cloud surmounted makes its beauty more. 

Amidst the harsh world's tumult and the fret 

Abide awhile, My child ; I cannot take thee yet. 

49 



JESUS TO THE SOUL OPPRESSED. 



Not yet, poor soul ! A few more darksome hours, 
And sore temptations met and overcome, 

A few more crosses bravely, meekly carried, 
Ere I can proudly call the tried one home. 

Nerve, then, thy heart ; the toil will soon be done, 

The crown of self-denial nobly earned and won. 

For soon will come a day when all thy conflicts, 
As waves receding on a stormy sea, 

Will vanish from thee, and some fair, glad hour 
Will bring the tried and chosen unto Me. 

Then thou'lt be freed from ev'ry pain and smart, 

And rest thy tired head upon My wounded heart. 




UNEXPRESSED THOUGHTS. 




BEAUTIFUL golden sunset, 
A tranquil, rippling sea, 
Sweet odors wafted faintly 
From lilac and hawthorn-tree ; 

The sound of some distant church-bell, 

The twitter of birds at play- 
All coarser sounds being ended, 
Proclaiming the close of day. 



A breeze coming up from the water 

Playfully rustles my dress, 
Whilst beautiful thoughts I am thinking — 

Thoughts that I cannot express ; 

Bright thoughts that I'm longing to utter, 
Sweet thoughts gently crowding my mind, 

Of all the best glories of nature, 
Of mercy and power combined ; 



5* 



UNEXPRESSED THOUGHTS. 



Glad thoughts of the beauties around me, 
From bright, rosy sky to green sod, 

All having one theme for their centre — 
Beginning and ending with God. 

Though thronged is my mind with these fancies 

So brilliant, yet nevertheless 
I fear I shall never be able 

These beautiful thoughts to express. 




52 



THROUGH THE VALLEY. 




E will wander through the valley, 
You and I, love, you and I, 
Where the sunlight loves to dally, 
Where the song-birds love to hie. 

We will gather fair young roses, 
You and I, love, you and I, 

As the sun each charm discloses 
Ere the glad day passes by. 



We will tread the upland passes, 
You and I, love, you and I, 

Lightly o'er the daisied grasses 
Radiant 'neath the summer sky. 



Toward the little church we'll wander, 
You and I, love, you and I ; 

There in peace we'll kneel and ponder 
Till the sunset draweth nigh. 



THROUGH THE VALLEY. 



We will place the fragrant flowers — 
You and I, love, you and I — 

'Neath the sacred Altar bowers, 
Near the shrine so pure and high. 

We'll return then through the valley 
Where the song-birds love to hie, 

Where the sunlight loves to dally — 
You and I, love, you and I. 





A LEGEND OF THE FLIGHT INTO 
EGYPT. 

j|j>f RISE, and take the Child and His 
Mother into Egypt," St. Joseph 
promptly obeyed the mandate of the 
angel ; and we see the Divine One 
and the blessed two fleeing through 
the solemn darkness of the night. 
The holy young Mother is seated 
upon an ass, with her little Babe 
tenderly folded to her breast ; whilst the gentle 
Foster-father, the kind Protector, carefully guides 
the way. 

What rapture must have filled Mary's heart, de- 
spite its weight of fears, as she clasped her Child in 
her arms! How she must have thrilled at the 
touch of the tiny hands upon her throat and face ! 
And how joyously her heart must have throbbed as 
she gazed into the grave, sweet eyes ! 

And Joseph, too — what must have been his joy 
when the sacred privilege was his sometimes, during 

55 



A LEGEND OF THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 

the journey, to carry the Divine Babe, and with rev- 
erent tenderness fold It in his arms ! 

Father Faber beautifully proposes this Egyptward 
flight of the Infant Saviour as a type of the visits 
of our good priests (God bless them !) to the sick 
and dying. 

In this wearisome journey of the Holy Family 
they came upon a man sowing wheat. Some mys- 
terious influence attracted him to the travellers. 
From the countenance of the Virgin Mother, or 
from the earnest eyes of the Child she bore in her 
arms, a softening gleam of grace descended into his 
heart. He was very kind to them and permitted 
them to cross his field ; and the young Mother, fold- 
ing her Babe yet more closely to her heart, leaned 
forward, explaining to him that they were pursued 
by enemies. "And if they come this way," said 
the sweet, low voice, "and ask if you have seen 
us — " 

" I shall say you did not pass this way," was the 
eager interruption. 

" Nay," said the Blessed Mother, with gentle dig- 
nity, "that would be falsehood and a sin. You 
must only speak the truth. Say: 'They passed me 
whilst I was sowing this corn.'" 

And the travellers pursued their journey. The 

56 



A LEGEND OF THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 

next morning the sower was amazed to find his 
corn had sprung up and ripened in the night. 
While he was gazing at it in astonishment Herod's 
officers rode up and questioned him. 

" Yes, I saw the people of whom you speak," 
said the sower. " They passed along here whilst I 
was sowing this corn." 

Then the officers moved on, feeling assured that 
the persons to whom the sower referred were not 
the Holy Family, for such fine, ripe corn must have 
been sown several months previously. 

Thus the holy Fugitives arrived safely in Egypt ; 
and when the wicked king died miserably in his 
magnificent palace, the angel again appeared to St. 
Joseph, bidding him bring Mary and her Babe to 
Nazareth, their home. 




57 



DREAMING. 



ITTING here in the quiet evening, 

Gazing into the star-gemmed sky, 
Wondering what are the Angels 
doing 
In that beautiful world on high ; 

Fancying what must be their rapture, 
Clustered around the great white 
throne, 
Where there is never a tear nor a sorrow, 
Never a sigh and never a moan ; 




Asking my heart a thousand of questions 
All about those realms on high — 

Thousands of weird and fanciful questions, 
Eagerly hoping for some reply ; 

Sitting here in the quiet evening, 
Gazing into the star-gemmed sky, 

Fancying what the bright Angels are doing 
In that beautiful world on high. 



58 




HE AND I. 

E was large, and strong, and brave : 
I was small, and weak, and slight. 
He was dark, majestic, grand, 

Almost twice my fragile height. 
He had lustrous eyes, like night ; 

He was brilliant, witty, wise: 
I, a little, pale-faced maiden, 
Quiet, shy, with sad, gray eyes. 
And, although quite opposites, 

In one thing we did agree, 
And I tremble as I tell it — 

I loved him, and he loved me. 
I loved him — alas ! how well ; 

He loved me — but that is past : 
I, the little, pale-faced one, 
Loved him fondly to the last. 

In the spring-time of our joy 
How we revelled in our love ! 

But too soon there came a time 
Our twain hearts to surely prove. 

59 



HE AND I. 



" Little one," he fondly said, 

" I must leave you for a while. 
I shall miss your soft, sweet voice, 

Sadly miss each loving smile. 
I shall hunger for one glance 

From my darling's shy, gray eyes, 
That so oft have beamed on me 

With a loving, glad surprise. 
'Tis for you, sweet, that I go 

To this dreary foreign shore ; 
I'll return with untold wealth, 

At your feet my ail to pour." 

Then he caught me to his arms, 
And I trembled at his touch ; 

For he seemed so fiercely fond, 
And I loved him, oh ! so much. 

" You must never doubt my love, 

But must have implicit trust." 
" Doubt you ! doubt you ! " I. made answer- 

" You, so tender, true, and just?" 
I to doubt him — that strong man ? 

Why, the thought were sacrilege ! 
But I dared not disobey him, 

So I gave my solemn pledge. 
60 



HE AND I. 

Then he gently stroked my hair, 

Murmured softly: "Little one, 
We'll be parted many miles 

Ere another day is done. 
May I hope your childish love 

Will not waver? May I feel 
That my little, timid girl 

Will be true, come woe, come weal? 
Ah ! 'twill be a miracle, 

Darling, if you do not change. 
You have yet to learn, sweet child, 

How young hearts are prone to range." 

Then I wildly clung to him, 

Feeling that some doom were near ; 
And he whispered loving words, 

Kissed away the rising tear. 
And I proudly told my heart, 

Should a sorrow ever grieve me, 
' Twould not be through him — ah ! no. 

That strong man would ne'er deceive me. 
But perhaps (for who can tell ?) 

I, so very young, might change ; 
Had not he, my king of men, 

Said, " Young hearts are prone to 
range " ? 

61 



HE AND I. 

Then on bended knee I prayed 

God to keep me true and good, 
Faithful, fond, unchanging to 

This my ideal of manhood. 
And two strong, two loving arms 

Tenderly uplifted me ; 
And anon he said farewell 

To his "little wife" to be. 
With his last kiss on my face 

Steadily he crossed the door ; 
And I watched him in the gloaming, 

And I saw him — never more ! 

Shall I, need I tell the rest ? 

How the dreary months dragged on, 
How I wearied, waited, pined 

When that large, strong man had gone ? 
Nay ! suffice for me to tell it, 

As I tremble through and through : 
He, the strong, brave man, was faithless ; 

I, the small, slight girl, was true. 




62 



IN A SCHOOLGIRL'S FLORAL 
ALBUM. 

NTO the heart of the Morning-Glory 
I have whispered, soft and low, 
Something that concerns you only — 

Something you will like to know. 
Bend your ear, and mutely listen, 
Whilst the Morning-Glory tells 
All the gladsome wishes for you 

I have left amidst her bells, 
All the wishes for the Future 
I have nestled there for you — 
Hoping, 'mid Life's clouds and sunshine, 
They will ev'ry one come true. 





6 3 




IN JOSIE'S ALBUM. 

GAZED on a little star last night, 
Embedded in azure blue, 
And as it twinkled in calm delight 
I murmured a prayer for you. 

I prayed : " May Josie be pure and 
good, 

Enriching her heart each day — 
A model of fairest maidenhood 

When Time steals childhood away." 



Adieu, little Josie ! In years afar 
Remember my prayer for you, 

Recorded one night to a little star 
Embedded in azure blue. 




6+ 



OUTSIDE THE FOLD. 




EARIED out with doubts and 
fears, 
And eager groping towards the 
light, 
|] My nights can tell of sighs and 
tears, 
My brightest days seem dark as 
W night. 



For I have strayed away so far, 

And anxious thrills my senses rack ; 

Oh ! from Thy wondrous Mercy-Bar 

Stretch forth Thy hand and take me back. 



Oh ! take me back into the fold, 
The weary, worn, bewildered sheep, 

And, with a rapture never told, 

I'll shelter near Thee, cease to weep. 

65 



OUTSIDE THE FOLD. 



Incline Thy mercy from above, 

And span the deep, the dark abyss 

That separates me from Thy love 
And all those blessings that I miss. 

One little ray of grace I ask, ' 

On that to build my tower of might ; 

And then 'twill be my joyous task 
To add unto it day and night. 

But, ah ! before I close my plea, 

Forgive me that I've caused Thee pain ; 

Now that I'm reconciled to Thee 
I'll never wander forth again. 

Then, oh ! extend Thy loving hand, 
And place me in the fold once more ; 

Teach me anew to understand 

The way to_love Thee and adore. 




A BIRTHDAY WISH. 




i. 

NCE again the brown November, 

With her sear and yellow leaves, 
Prelude of a chill December, 

Through the land her presence 
weaves. 



II. 

Once again a joyous birthday 

Comes to cheer Life's graver hours, 1 

As the song-bird's lay of mirth may 

Gladden spring-time fraught' [with showers. 



III. 

Once again my glad petition 
Rises to the Throne above : 

" Bless him, Father ; be his mission 
Ever one of peace and love ! " 

6 7 



I ONLY MEAN HALF THAT I SAY. 




OME, do not be sulky and look so pro- 
voking 
On such a bright, sunshiny day. 
Why should you get angry when I 
am but teasing 
And only mean half that I say ? 



I own I have bothered and greatly annoyed you, 
But then, love, you know it's my way; 

And not alone mine — 'tis the case with all women 
They only mean half that they say. 



Just see all the minutes you've wasted already 

In trying to have your own way ; 
I'll tease, and I'll tease, till your frowns have all 
vanished, 

Still meaning but half that I say. 

68 



/ ONL Y MEAN HALF THA T I SAY. 



A smile ? Ah ! I've caught you. Why, rogue, you 
are laughing ! 

Now teasing is done — for to-day. 
So banish all frowns, and in future remember 

I only mean half that I say. 




6 9 



COUNT TWENTY. 




HATE oo! Oo naughty, bad dirl ! " 
And the baby-hands were clenched 
angrily. 

" What ! what did I hear my 
Birdie say?" And the young mo- 
ther moved towards her child. 
"You hate Rosa? Hate your sis- 
ter? Why, Birdie, how is this?" 

" See is a dweadful dirl, mam- 
ma ; see upset my toys all tumble- 
tumble, and brote my dolly's nose." 

" No, mamma, I really did not," said the elder 
child. " My dress caught, and Birdie's toys went 
over." 

" Oo naughty Rosa! oo dwess didn't "taught : oo 
did it." 

" Gently, Birdie ! " And the little one was lifted 
to her mother's lap. " Rosa did not purposely up- 
set your toys ; and even if she did, that would be 

7 o 



COUNT TWENTY. 



no reason that you should hate her. If you hate 
your sister you will never go to heaven and see 
God and all the pretty angels. God will not love 
naughty children ; and you, my darling, have been 
very, very naughty." 

"Touldn't help it, mamma— touldn't weally ! " And 
the bright head was laid upon the mother's shoulder. 

" Could not help it, Birdie ? Yes, my darling, 
you could ; and I will tell you how." The little 
baby-face, which gave promise of great intelligence, 
was raised to the mother's. " If you are ever again 
made angry, Birdie, just as you are about to say 
the first cross word stop for a moment and count 
twenty to yourself. You can count, Birdie ; you 
know papa taught you up to fifty. Now, will you 
remember what I have told you, dear? And this 
will apply also to you, Rosa," turning to the elder 
child, " and to me, and to every one. You know 
by the time you have counted twenty the fevered 
breath of anger will have passed away — you will 
be no longer angry, Birdie. Do you think you un- 
derstand me ?" 

" Ees, mamma ; and the nest time Rosa bweats 
my dolly I sail tount twenty." 

" That's a good little child ! " And the mother 
settled her in the corner amongst her toys. Turn- 



COUNT TWENTY. 



ing, she met her husband's eyes fixed smilingly upon 
her, and as she drew near him he said : 

" I wish, Madeline, you would exert the same 
sweet influence over the servants as* you do over 
the children. See ! there goes Hannah out on the 
lawn with her hair tossed and her cap flying be- 
hind her." 

"Yes, I see, Alfred. But you know we cannot 
look for perfection in any one," a little impatiently ; 
" and the only serious fault which I have detected 
in Hannah is that she is prone to be untidy. But 
then her industry and her fondness for the chil- 
dren will, I think, compensate for her other fault." 

" But, Madeline—" 

" Now, Alfred ! " throwing her head back. 

"Tount twenty, mamma!" said a sweet, childish 
voice from the corner. 

The mother paused ; a crimson flush overspread 
the young face, reaching to the very roots of the 
soft hair and away behind the pretty, pink ears. 
The deeply-fringed eyes were lowered for an in- 
stant, and then quickly raised, as, laying her hand 
on her husband's arm, she said gently : 

" Yes, you are right, Alfred. I must not forget 
to correct Hannah." That was all. 

I think she must have counted twenty. 



A CHRISTMAS WISH. 




ARK ! the Christmas bells are chim- 
ing 
On the solemn midnight air; 
And each echo, softly rhyming, 
Seemeth like an Angel's prayer, 

Whilst within the hallowed stable 
Mary kneeleth near her Child — 
Human heart seems scarcely able 
To portray a scene so mild. 



This the hour when untold graces, 
Like sweet music on the air, 

Hover o'er us, and the traces 
Leave their impress ev'rywhere. 



Sacred Infant! born this hour, 
As the stars blink o'er the dome, 

Manifest Thy love and power — 
Richly bless this little home. 



DREAMLAND. 




HE Goddess Somna lightly touched 
mine eyes 
With velvet fingers, and I yielded 

to 
The soft, mesmeric influence and 

sped 
Into the realm of Dreamland ; here 

I quaffed 

Delicious waters from the font of 
Sleep — 
Forgot all pain, distress, anxiety, 
And wandered thro' the wondrous land of Dreams. 



O wondrous land of Dreams, a treasure thou ! 
Friend of the weary brain and saddened soul. 
Sweet are thy labyrinths and restful paths, 
And all the low, hushed sounds accompanying. 
Dear are the faces that we meet therein — 
Faces and forms that never, nevermore 



DREAMLAND. 



Will greet our waking moments ; that have sped 
Beyond the borders of our earth-land home. 
And treasured, too, the absent ones who come 
To visit us from far-off, foreign climes 
With smile of tenderness we oft have seen. 



O absent one ! in Dreamland oft we meet. 

dear, dark, loving eyes that seek mine own, 
And strong, firm hands that clasp my docile ones — 
The Goddess Somna yieldeth all this bliss. 
Oblivious to distress, anxiety, 

1 wandered through the wondrous land of Dreams ; 
And when the wanderings their limit found, 

The Goddess Somna oped the portal fair, 
Presenting to my gaze the waking world — 
To my reluctant gaze the waking world. 




CONSOLATION. 




to 



be 



HEN the soul is filled with anguish, 
When the heart seems almost 
broken, 
When the parched lips long 
utter 
Words that never should 
spoken ; 
When the head is aching wildly, 
When the pulse is beating high ; 
When the hot hands press the bosom, 

Keeping back each rising sigh ; 
When we feel there is no prospect 

Of a coming brighter day — 
Then it is sweet consolation 

First to weep, and then to pray. 




.76 



POT-POURRI." 




'HE doctor said it was malaria; that 
I needed rest and must not see the 
inside of my office for a week or 
ten days. 

Alice said I had overworked my- 
self, fully agreeing with the physi- 
cian that I must remain at home for 
a while and be doctored. 
And I agreed with them both that a week of 
perfect rest was the very thing that I needed. 

Malaria! I had often heard people complain of 
it, moan and groan and languish under it ; but for 
my part I could resign myself to malaria once every 
year, if it always meant a week of delightful loung- 
ing in a perfect cottage overlooking a little garden 
redolent with nature's fairest offerings, with trail- 
ing woodbine forming a perfumed curtain around 
the door ; and within a light-footed woman with a 
sweet, clear voice, gentle hands, and the face of an 
angel, always within sight, and frequently hovering 

77 



pot-pourri: 



over one in tender solicitude. All this was con- 
stituted in the word malaria, from which I have 
long since recovered ; though I sometimes wonder 
expectantly, Will it ever return again ? 

What an enchanted spot the world seemed that 
delightful week in the dawn of summer! Alice 
seemed more beautiful than ever — her eyes bluer, 
her hair more golden ; and in her very presence 
there seemed to be something almost seraphic that 
I had never noticed before. 

But so perverse is human nature, so imperfect 
the human heart, that even bliss may become mo- 
notonous. At least so I thought that sunny after- 
noon, as, reclining in my easy-chair, my eyes fol- 
lowed the lithe form of Alice as she flitted about 
our little parlor. 

" Yes," she had said, as her slender fingers moved 
caressingly over my brow, and her darkly-fringed 
eyes gazed into mine — " yes, your holiday is almost 
over, and to-morrow you will turn from the poetry 
of flowers to the stern reality of law-books." 

And I had answered that I would be glad to re- 
turn to work, for this quiescent life, though delight- 
ful, was enervating. 

She turned from me with a gentle smile, and, 
seating herself at the piano, awoke some soft minor 

7 s 



pot-pourri: 



strains that I always loved ; but, as if remember- 
ing that I was in rather a depressed mood, gently 
drifted into livelier melody, and presently was fill- 
ing the summer air with fragments from " Patience " 
and " Pinafore," and finally the " Mascot " pot-pourri. 
Accomplishing which she arose, and, turning to me, 
said : 

" This musical pot-pourri reminds me that I in- 
tended completing to-day the flower pot-pourri for 
my writing-desk." And producing an ivory-cov- 
ered box, she began her work, or pastime. All the 
sweet-scented flowers that she had collected and 
dried were there in preparation to be formed into a 
sachet. But as her slender fingers strayed through 
the collection, and a light air rippled on her lips, 
I arose, declaring my intention to test my strength 
by walking to the Park. Her pretty lip pouted 
as she said : 

"Oh! I thought you would like to see me finish 
my pot-pourri." 

But, murmuring something like " nonsense," I 
waved my hand in adieu and strolled down the 
garden-path. 

I reached the Park just as the band was giving 
forth delightful strains and the promenaders were 
in full force. But, feeling weary, I seated myself 



"POT-POURRI? 



in the shadow of some frail shrubbery to enjoy a 
quiet smoke ; and, although invisible, I could dis- 
tinctly hear fragments of conversation as the pro- 
menaders passed to*and fro. And some of it *was 
so ludicrous, or rather the effect, as the remark of 
one passer-by would seem to be continued by the 
next one, that I was sometimes inclined to laugh 
outright. 

"Yes, she sang- at the concert the other night," 
spoke a bright, girlish voice ; " and she is just as 
sweet and winsome as a — " 

" Big, frantic 6bw. Did you read about it ? " 
spoke the next voice., " Weighing ever so many 
pounds; broke loose, frightened a child almost to 
death, and smashed — " 

"The eclipse? Yes; had our burnt glass all 
ready. But then, you know, everything was so ob- 
scure, and — " 

" There goes Miss Courtney. Don't you know 
her ? That tall lady there to the right, with the 
elegant dress trimmed with — " 

" Custard-pudding and a cup of chocolate is my 
favorite luncheon ; but mamma says she would rath- 
er have me take — " 

" That large willow-tree over there — is there not 
something weird about it ? See how gracefully the 

80 



"POT-POURRI." 



branches bend and sway. It reminds me for all the 
world of — " 

" Mr. Taylor's monkey in its little red dress. Did 
you — " 

" No, you really must let me have my own way 
for once, Frank ; I positively must — ■" 

" Jump over the moon. One is just as probable 
as the other. If you listen to what every one says 
you will fall into error just as sure as fate — " 

"Or Mrs. Winslow's soothing-syrup. We've tried 
them both, but prefer the former." 

"Clara, I cannot help admiring your new bonnet. 
I know it must have come either from Madame Du 
Val's or — " 

" Blackwell's Island, three months ago. Poor fel- 
low ! Such a pity ! It always makes me feel — " 

" Up in a balloon ? Yes, glorious such a day as 
this ; that is, the ascent. Would be slightly appre- 
hensive of the descent, though. Shouldn't like to 
come down right in the middle of — " 

" A glass of fresh buttermilk, or some strawber- 
ries and cream ; or, what would be more refreshing 
still—" 

" That cashier in the other bank, sir. I ought to 
know him pretty well, sir; he married my aunt's — " 

" Large carriage with three seats, just room enough 



" pot-pourri:' 



for six. I am getting such a lovely dress of azure 
mull, trimmed elaborately with—" 

" Catskill Mountains for two weeks, and then 
Lake George. Oh ! I just long to behold the beau- 
tiful scenery. I shall revel in poetry, romance, 
and — " 

" Mrs. Carrington's baby was stung by a bee. She 
applied a poultice of — " 

" Stocks, bonds, and railroad shares. And as for 
this rapid-transit business, my friend, all I have to 
say is — " 

"'There's nothing half so sweet in life as' — " 

" Mother's old Indian shawl, and a lot of old 
clothes for the children. She seemed quite happy, 
poor thing, and — " 

" Nellie, do keep step, and don't walk so zigzag; 
and stop ' making eyes ' at — " 

" King James the First — or was it the Second ? 
I confess I am no authority on history ; and those 
questions always remind me of — " 

But the simile was lost in an explosive chord 
from the band, a preliminary to the sweet strains 
of " Home, sweet Home." 

" Oh ! what a bright, brief afternoon this has 
been," spoke a sweet, clear voice — " a reflection of 
some hopes too bright not to be brief." 

82 



"POT-POURRI." 



" Home, sweet Home ! " — wondrously suggestive 
of buttered biscuits, tea, and lemon-cream cakes; 
wondrously suggestive of tender blue eyes with 
deeply-fringed lashes, busy white fingers, and a 
cheery voice. Or, as a young damsel remarked to 
her escort : " ' Home, sweet Home ' always reminds 
me of the kettle singing its merriest tune just be- 
fore the water bubbles up, and pussy purring con- 
tentedly on the hearth-rug." 

" Home, sweet Home ! " I wondered if Alice had 
completed her pot-pourri to her satisfaction, and 
if she had forgotten my recent sullenness. I could 
easily anticipate her greeting : she would smile up 
into my eyes her sunniest smile, box my ears, and 
then forgive me. And, by way of an amende honor- 
able, I would feign an interest in her pot-pourri it 
were impossible for me to feel, and would then 
make her smile whilst I told her of my pot-pourri — 
of the songstress who was as sweet and winsome as 
a big, frantic cow who smashed the eclipse ; of the 
young lady who contemplated with delight the joy 
of wearing a dress trimmed with Catskill Mountains 
and Lake George ; and of the other fair one who 
was rebuked for " making eyes " at King James the 
First. 



83 



SALUTATORY. 




NCE more we hail our Distribution 
day — 
The day of many smiles, per- 
chance a tear; 
And to our honored Bishop we 
convey 
Our joyous welcome, loving and 
sincere. 
This the first visit thou hast deigned to grace 

The convent hall this year, that waited long; 
Thy presence now thine absence will efface, 
Reflecting gladness o'er our little throng. 
We've marked the time, as with relentless tread 

It drifted from us with a solemn tone ; 
The golden moments came, but quickly fled, 

And vanished ere we knew they were our own. 
Each hour bears its record v to the Past, 

Fraught with some incident of joy or pain : 
A cloud surmounted — feelings overcast — 
Perchance a face we ne'er shall see again ! 

8 4 



SALUTATORY. 



Ah ! yes, a face we ne'er shall see again. 

For we have felt the chilly hand of Death ; 
Our tears have dripped like gentle summer rain ; 

Our prayers we murmured thro' our bated breath. 
God sent an angel to our convent hall, 

And thro' the March wind's sobbing, drear and 
chill, 
Our young Ecilda answered to the call, 

Yielding her life, obedient to His will. 
There was no cause for weeping; still we wept, 

For such a death-scene angels seldom see : 
She passed from life as calmly as she slept, 

Our pure, frail Cuban lily ! — mourners we. 
But not alone crossed she the portals dim ; 

Her Lord reposed upon her childish breast 
For the first time ; and, journeying with Him, 

In safety she found eternal rest. 

But now mid-summer, with her smiling face, 

And wreath of roses on her golden hair, 
With soft, green drapery and airy grace, 

Comes tripping in our midst with gladsome air, 
Proclaiming that she is our queen, and we 

Must bow allegiance to her perfumed sway ; 
That fairer sovereign we may not see 

Until another Distribution day. 

85 



SALUTATORY. 



Then hail ! Queen Summer. Tarry long with us, 

And trail bright flowers over all the earth ! 
We love to see thee in thy beauty thus ; 

Herald thou art of sunshine, joy, and mirth. 
And hail ! thrice hail ! most reverend father, hail ! 

Proudly we bid thee welcome on this day : 
Our reverential love will never fail — 

Respectful homage we will ever pay. 
And whilst we bid thee welcome to our hall, 

And to our midst thy presence warmly greet, 
We pray that next year may unite us all, 

As here to-day, around thy honored feet. 




86 



VALEDICTORY. 




EARS roll by in quick succession, 
And we count them in their 
flight ; 
Some bring- sorrow and oppres- 
sion, 
Some are fraught with joyous 
light, 
And we glance thro' Time's swift 
turning 
On some days too fair to last ; 
Yet no tender love or yearning 
Can recall them from the Past. 



O ye gone days — gone for ever ! 

Drifted from our loving sight ! 
From our hearts ye cannot sever 

Friends and scenes once true and bright. 

87 



VALEDICTORY. 



Thus this present happy hour 

Soon will be no more our own ; 
Time, with stern, relentless power, 

Hastens now to bear it home. 
Yet this day, to me, will ever 

Be a picture bright and fair ; 
In my heart I will endeavor 

To preserve its impress there. 
But 'mid all the smiles and gladness 

There's a tinge of sorrow, too ; 
For there ever is a sadness 

Shadow'd o'er the word " adieu." 
And perhaps when this day closes, 

With its music and its mirth, 
With its mellow light and roses, 

We may never meet on earth. 
But I trust our path to heaven 

May be trod in fear and love ; 
That, when earthly ties are riven, 

We will all unite above. 



Good-by, Mother ! Was there ever 
Tongue to name thee but with love? 

Ever heart, when called to sever 

From thee, but thy worth could prove ? 



VALEDICTORY. 

Thou hast all a mother's feeling 

For the children in thy care ; 
Ev'ry little sorrow healing, 

Making sunshine ev'rywhere. 
I will miss thy kind protection 

When I've said my last " farewell," 
And will oft, with fond affection, 

On thy gentle guidance dwell. 

Good-by, Sisters ! When I wander 
Through the gay world's busy maze, 

I will think of you and ponder 
On my happy convent days. 

Lov'd companions! I must leave you 

For a life untried and new. 
Will my absence ever grieve you ? 

Fain I'd linger still with you. 
Ah ! no more we'll roam together . 

Through the garden's pleasant shade, 
Heedless we, whate'er the weather, 

As in mirth we laughed and played. 
But, alas! those scenes of gladness 

Vanish from me whilst I tell 
Of the new, unmingled sadness 

As I murmur my farewell ! 



VALEDICTORY. 

Good-by, schoolmates! On the morrow 
If some word my presence bears, 

Think of me, but not with sorrow — 
Breathe my name amidst your prayers. 

Now my heart seems full of yearning, 
As the parting draweth nigh. 

Farewell, school-days! ne'er returning; 
Convent home, good-by — good-by! 




TWO SUNSETS. 




I. Francis/ 



E was the only son of his mother, 
and she was a widow." Proud 
was this widow of her only son — 
her noble-hearted, fatherless boy. 
And as they sat together beneath 
a drooping willow, watching the 
golden sunset, hailing the cuckoo's 
call, they were a picture of sweet 
content and blissful idleness — blissful idleness, for 
this was a Sunday evening, and these were vacation 
days. This, moreover, was the mother's birthday, 
as the bouquet in her lap could fragrantly attest — 
that bouquet of her best-loved flowers, wild white 
roses and woodbine, gathered by the hands dearest 
to her heart. 

Bending towards the reclining form at her feet, 
she said, gently and smilingly : " My son, your hu- 

91 



TWO SUNSETS. 



raility has been severely exercised this month in col- 
lege honors, universal praise, and, may be, some flat- 
tery. Let us trust, however," resting her hand on 
the golden head, "that your virtue is so strongly 
fortified that there is no unguarded avenue through 
which the enemy Pride may effect an entrance. Let 
us trust that the widow's boy gives all honor to 
God, to whom all honor is due." 

And yet the humid eyes, looking into the calm, 
fair face beneath her, unconsciously testified, by 
their expression, that in her heart she felt that no 
praise was too good for him, no honor too great. 

The bright, boyish face was upturned lovingly, 
the large, blue eyes met those seeking his, as, with 
unconscious humility, he replied : " Nay, mother, 
in the picture you have drawn I see no cause for 
pride. True that I received the highest honors 
conferred ; true that mine ears were deafened by 
applause lavished upon the valedictorian ; but that 
was but the harvest hour of many months of solid 
labor. Had any of my classmates applied them- 
selves one-half as earnestly as I did, theirs undoubt- 
edly would have been the honors. That bright, 
poetic hour was but the result of much practical, 
commonplace toil. God is good, my mother, and 
undoubtedly has blessed you ; but your boy, after 



TWO SUNSETS. 



all, is but the very least of your blessings," smil- 
ing brightly. 

And as the summer breezes sang their lullaby to 
the drooping flowers, mother and son talked happi- 
ly together of the receding past and the dawning 
future. 

Merrily did the boyish laugh ring out as he re- 
counted some college anecdote to the pleased ears 
above him ; whilst the mother gazed tenderly into 
his fair, intellectual face and the bright eyes, mir- 
rors of a happy heart. Anon they spoke of the 
future ; and now the merry laugh was stilled, the 
fair face seemed more intellectual, more earnest than 
ever before, as the evening breeze swept the golden 
hair off the broad, white brow, whilst the large eyes 
gazed placidly over the green hill-tops. 

And now the mother talked ; and bright were the 
pictures drawn from her imagination — pictures in 
which her tall, fair boy was always the central fig- 
ure : the crowning one a winsome maiden for his 
bride, and a rose-covered cottage over yonder by 
the hillside. Glad was the mother's heart, and 
hopeful ; but to all her picture-drawing there was 
no responsive chord. . . . 

He, too, was drawing pictures for the future — 
brighter, gladder, more glorious by far than those 



TWO SUNSETS. 



to which he listened. His picture was no rose- 
crowned cottage surrounded with ease, but a life of 
self-sacrifice. No bright home-picture did he see, 
but a rude, rough cross, with a wasted Figure nail- 
ed thereto, bearing a thorn-crowned head ; and one 
of those sacred nails, one of those precious thorns, 
was dearer to his heart than all the treasures of 
the world. 

The mother ceased speaking and leaned towards 
her son. There was a moment's silence, save the 
robin's mirthful chirping and the zephyr's mysteri- 
ous whispering through the trees. Then the youth 
at her feet arose and placed himself beside her. 
" Mother mine " — and the voice was low and hush- 
ed, and very earnest — " the future you have drawn 
may never be." 

And in calm, clear, unhesitating accents he told 
her of the future he had planned : told her of his 
burning love for One ; of his bright dreams and 
grand ambitions — ambitions, not of honor and es- 
teem, for his ambition was to be unknown save by 
his Master, but for a life of generous self-denials. 
He told her how he longed to be an Ignatius or a 
Xavier, but would pass from this life well content 
simply as an Aloysius or a Stanislaus. He told her, 
too, how conscious he was of his inability to do 



TWO SUNSETS. 



aught of himself, but that he leant entirely on, and 
gathered strength from, that glorious promise, " My 
grace is sufficient for thee." With that, for his bea- 
con-light, what could shadow his pathway? With 
that for his strength, what enervation was there in 
weakness? With that for his watchword, what 
could deter him ? Through what perilous tempta- 
tions might he not pass unscathed, and not un- 
scathed alone, but elevated, in the realization that 
to- conquer self is the greatest of all victories? " My 
grace is sufficient for thee ! " That promise was to 
be his strength in weakness, his joy in desolation. 

And as the mother proudly gazed into the earnest, 
spiritual face, the golden sunset rested on St. Igna- 
tius' Church on the hill-top, as the tender Angelus 
rang clearly out, gladdening the rose-scented even- 
ing. 



II. Father Francis. 

The days lengthened into weeks, the weeks into 
months, and the months formed themselves into 
years. Again, after some years, the mother's birth- 
day, again the sympathetic sunset hour; but now 
the mother's days on earth are numbered, and more 

95 



TWO SUNSETS. 



than usually does the consumptive feel exhausted 
this evening, for her strength was severely taxed 
in the morning. She had taken the drive to and 
from St. Ignatius' Church to assist at her loved 
• one's first Mass, receiving from his hands the Bread 
of Angels ; and now, resting on the cushions which 
his loving hands arranged in her arm-chair, she sits 
at the vine-covered portico, gazing after the young 
priest that has just left her, to gather, as has been 
his wont, a bunch of wild woodbine and white ro- 
ses. Tenderly her eyes follow the receding form, as, 
with hands clasped before her, she murmurs earnest 
prayers for his future. She sees him walk steadily 
on, stooping now and again to cull a flower, and 
anon standing tall and erect, taking in, apparently, 
the beauties by which he is surrounded. 

Her strength seems lessening with each breath 
she draws, and for a moment she closes her weary 
eyes — only for a moment — and then she directs 
their gaze once more to the form dearest to her 
heart. She sees him now reclining beneath some 
shrubbery, his face turned towards the little home- 
stead ; and as the glorious burst of sunset crimsons 
the western sky, darting golden rays, above the form 
upon which her dying gaze is resting, the Angelus 
rings sweetly out ; and, breathing for him her last 

9 6 



TWO SUNSETS. 



Ave Maria on earth, her spirit wings its flight 
above. 

And he, his young heart full of holy joy, having 
left his mother's side, wanders through the pleasant 
valley and up the daisied hillside. What grand, 
what noble thoughts dilate his mind ! Never did 
he feel so proud, never so humble — proud in rec- 
ognition of his great dignity, this young, newly- 
ordained priest ; humble in the consciousness of the 
sanctity requisite — whilst the very violets under his 
feet seem to look up and bless him. Oh ! such long- 
ings crowd his heart, many of which he has already 
tasted — longings for hardship, penance, self-denial! 
If on this, the gladdest day of his life, he may de- 
mand one thing of God, it is this : a long life of 
continuous labor (and yet how his pure heart al- 
ready yearns for the joys of heaven !), in which he 
may be rigorously exercised in every virtue. Joy- 
ously he walks along, repeating verses from the won- 
derful Psalms, pausing at times to pull a spray of 
yielding woodbine. 

" How long wilt Thou, O Lord," he repeats, " hide 
Thy beautiful face from me?" And his countenance 
lights up with holy exultation. 

And now he espies the luxurious growth of roses 
for which he has wandered so far, just there at the 



TWO SUNSETS. 



other side of the peaceful little stream, upon which 
the glimmering sun-rays dance so merrily. He gives 
a light bound across the sparkling water, but falls 
just beside the roses. Smilingly he half-rises, but 
is conscious of a sudden weakness ; and some bright 
red drops flowing from his lips tell him a blood- 
vessel is ruptured. He moves his prostrate form 
so that he may gaze once more upon the loved 
one sitting yonder at the dear old portico. How 
calm and peaceful she looks with her hands folded 
before her ! 

" May God bless her latest hours and take her 
soon to Himself ! " 

And as the radiant sunset surrounds his calm, fair 
face, like a halo, and the evening breeze scatters the 
pure white roses down about him, the bell from St. 
Ignatius' tower rings out the Angelus ; and as the 
last faint echo silvers the perfumed evening, the 
pure soul is wafted heavenward to gaze upon " the 
beautiful Face " for all eternity. 




IN THE GARDEN. 




HE wind blew over the lea; 

The message it carried to me 
Was : Cast away fear ; there's hap- 
piness near, 
And joyous thy life shall be. 



The roses looked up in alarm ! 
(The zephyr intended no harm 
In blowing apart a rose-scented 
heart, 
Enhancing each beautiful charm.) 



The lily-buds caught the refrain, 
And echoed the murmur again : 
Ah! cast away fear; there's happiness near: 
No longer advert to thy pain. 



IN THE GARDEN. 



My heart wakened up from its dream, 
Entranced with the soft summer gleam. 
No more will I moan for the happiness flown, 
For sorrow but sorrow doth seem. 



-&■ 




